I waited quietly in my room, the wooden ball in my hands. It'd only be a matter of time before everyone else had gone to sleep. Multiple late-night trips to the hospital had taught me that, though this was the first time I actively planned to leave the house during the night. The quiet left me time to think. Something I'd rather not do at the moment. There was something to distract me though. Focusing my eyes on the wooden ball, it became the center of my attention as I manipulated it.
First, I shifted it into a simple baton, not so different from the one I created to fight the three idiots in the park. It really had only been a few days huh? All it took was a thought for the thorns to sprout along its length. Twisting it in my hand, a frown formed on my face. I don't want to be using a baton. It's too… plain. Too simple. Another thought, and it warped and split, forming a small grouping of arrows. As close to the online diagrams as I could manage, with blunt tips. Not that I can use them well. That had been a mess. Next, the arrows merged back together and formed a knife. A test I had done on making blades. At least that had turned out effective.
Pushing the frustration out of my mind as best I can, I focused on something more productive. Practicing forming the mask without using my hands to mold it. As relaxing as that turned out to be, it wasn't quick. I didn't want to waste valuable time that could be spent either practicing or patrolling on sculpting. Luckily, having already made the mask a few times before, it was pretty easy to get right. Can powers have muscle memory? This feels like muscle memory.
It was the melancholic face I'd designed for Willow Warrior. Staring at the thick eyebrows and high cheekbones, a bit of frustration bubbled up within me. All this work and no one's gonna know I put it in. This can never be connected back to Amy Dallon. I can't even make something similar to show off in case someone connects the dots. A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled out, one hand clamping over my mouth to keep it from escaping. God, that's what I'm focusing on? Not being able to show off, like it was some art project?
Snorting one last time, I shook my head at my ridiculousness. A buzz came from my pocket, and I reached into my jeans. My phone's alarm, telling me it was eleven fifty. It was time. Turning the mask back into a ball, I put it back into its spot in my drawer. Let's see… Phone? Check. Keys? Check. Wallet? Check. Nervous energy over this? Check. A short few breaths to calm me, and I was ready to go.
The route was very familiar to me by this point. Close the door slowly with the handled turn so it doesn't click. Walk down the hallway and step over the loose board. Go down the stairs on the left as close to the wall as possible. Stick to the carpet and head for the back door. Repeat the process I did with my bedroom door. Go around the right side of the house to avoid the chance of Carol noticing me through a window. Wince at the sound of snow under my feet. Continue right to the bus stop, only takes three minutes for the bus to arrive. Climb on.
Sitting more towards the middle, a small breath escaped me. Despite having done that many times before, my heart had been in my throat. This was different though. I wasn't just going for another night of trudging through hospital hallways. It wasn't… more important than that. It was selfish, completely selfish of me to do this. Yet I was a selfish person wasn't I? Last night proved that more than anything else.
I pressed my head against the bus window and closed my eyes. I could have told her I was going home. Lied to her so she wouldn't have worried. Instead, I just let her search all over the city for me while I practiced… The guilt of lying to Vicky and the guilt of letting her worry had fought each other to a standstill in my head. Until I just pushed it all aside to focus on practicing with the armor. Then my nose started running and I got the cocoa and she called. You're too good for me Vicky. Even when I do something as awful as that you're still so… loving. Why do you gotta be so loving?
The bus lurched a bit, my head sliding forward to gently whack against the back of the seat in front of me. The tree's still covered in white greeted my eyes when I opened them. I was where I needed to be. Getting up, I didn't give the bus driver a second glance. Snow crunched under my shoes and a shiver ran through me. It was cold, apparently, the coldest Brockton Bay had been in a decade. Wearing a heavy jacket was out of the question though, it'd just get in the way. Shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I started into the park. Do this, take my mind off Vicky. Simple.
The only light to see was the lamps lining the pathways. A pitch black sky was all that was over-head, completely overcast. The sounds of the city, almost always omnipresent, were muffled. Both by the snow and the fact that everyone who could manage it was staying indoors. They'd cleared the roads, but that didn't change the fact no one wanted to be out in the cold. Everyone except teenage girls planning to go out on their first secret patrol.
Snorting in slight amusement at how stupid that was, the center of the park was before me. It was a small courtyard with a fountain in the middle, frozen up solid by the unexpected weather. It meant I was deep enough. Turning to look about, my eyes found a large, old oak tree. One that wouldn't miss some biomass. Walking over to it, I slowly slipped around it, out of the light and into its shadow. I brought one of my hands out, finding a spot of loose bark. With a quick yank, it came off, leaving me to lay my hands on the living wood beneath.
Just do as I practiced. Already done it once before, how hard could it be? Start with the underlayer. Biomass flowed from the tree and over my arms, transforming into a more green leaf-like substance as it went. It still felt weird to have it crawling over my body as if multiple snakes were coiling about me. I made it tight across my entire body, causing the hoodie to press against me. Part of the practice let me realize I needed padding. Whacking myself with nothing but the undersuit and wooden armor hurt. My mind had almost immediately gone to someone I had healed once.
A PRT agent who'd been on the wrong side of one of Stormtiger's blasts. It'd thrown her into a concrete divider and shattered some of her vertebrae. Without my healing, she'd have never walked again. What stuck with me however was the rest of her body. To put it bluntly, she'd been ripped. I used her body as an example, making the padding of the undersuit resemble muscle groups visually. In actuality, they were more along the lines of moss. It had the nice side effect of providing more insulation against the cold… As well as just making me look badass.
The underlayer is done, time for the actual armor. More wood flowed from the tree, some of the lower branches shrinking to accommodate the lost mass in the trunk. It started just like my first armor, smooth panels of wood forming the necessary underlying shapes. I'd learned quickly that each piece had to be completely disconnected from each other and smooth where they meet. Leaving the fingertips of the gloves uncovered, I tested each limb's movement abilities. Messed up the elbow and knee joints.
It was a quick fix, simply giving those joints some more room so they could move more freely. Then, with a thought, I had the texture appear. Bark-like coloration and patterns, growing across all the wood where it wouldn't cause problems with movement. Within seconds it went from looking like furniture paneling to like I'd ripped it straight off the tree. I looked as if I was a tree coming to life in the shape of a woman. Except for my face. All that was needed was the mask.
My hand went back to the tree, pulling out a glob of biomass that quickly took shape. This mask didn't look like any of the three previous masks. It wasn't serene, or melancholic, or mischievous. I was confident. The only new addition to the original mask was very thin leaf-like structures over the eyes and nostrils, acting like filters as well as making it harder to properly see my eyes. Complete anonymity, the exact opposite of what New Wave stood for… Perfect. I pressed the inside of the mask against my face, the wood of the rest of the helmet merging with it. Small vines sprouted from the back of the helmet, reaching down to the middle of her back. They rapidly sprouted oak leaves, leaving me looking perfect.
Maybe. It was hard to tell what I looked like without a mirror, but every detail of the armor was visible in my mind. It looked good up there, so it probably looked good from the outside as well. Hopefully. Still needed the spear though, and so my hand went back to the tree. More wood flowed out of it, forming a lump on my back as well as a dense block on my left arm. Reserve wood in case of damages to the armor, or to make a shield. Then, the weapon. I curled my hand around with my knuckles touching the living wood. It poured into my hand, forming a shaft quickly. I didn't bother putting a point on it yet, just leaving myself with a rather large stick.
Rolling my shoulders a bit, feeling the armor shift with it, the grin came onto my face of its own accord. No one was gonna recognize me. The boots added an extra inch to my height, the padding completely changed my silhouette, and the mask completely hid my face. As far as anyone would know, I was a completely new cape on the scene. My eyes looked around, trying to figure out where to go in the dark of the park. I kind of wish I had a light… Wait a minute.
My eyes turned to look at the staff in my hand. Bioluminescence was possible, even for plants. So… How would I… It took maybe a minute of fiddling with various chemicals and cells in the wood until eventually, a small glowing spot appeared on the surface. With a thought, I sent flowing, spiraling patterns all over it, casting me and my surroundings in green light. A giddiness spread through me, and I had to stifle a giggle. I look like a proper hero! Not just some nobody at the hospital!
Straightening my back out, I picked my head up. Even as the giggles kept slipping out. Whatever thug I run into is gonna shit themselves! New scary hero on the streets, stay indoors if you don't wanna get whacked! Wait, I'm actually just gonna have to whack them aren't I? My eyes settled on the staff in my hands. Out of the darkness of the park, I dimmed the glow. I can always give it a spear point. If I accidentally injure someone too much, I can always just heal them. Use some of that 'special solve' like I did the first time I went out…
Deciding to just handle it when the time comes, my patrol started in earnest. I learned something very quickly about patrols. Going on them alone? It was pretty boring. The excitement of going out and acting like a proper hero quickly faded, as street after street only turned up nothing. Anyone who spotted me hurried to get away, without committing any obvious crimes. This was nothing like the patrols I'd gone on before... The few times Vicky managed to get me to go with her, we'd have a conversation to fill the downtime. Without that, it was a lot of wandering around and staring into grimy allies to try and spot anything.
At least probably an hour passed without much happening. The most interesting thing was finding some passed-out drunks and making sure they weren't going to die. One was a junkie and probably would have died of an overdose if I hadn't healed him. Even when trying to get away from it, I still wind up having to do that… At least none of them seemed like they were going to freeze to death. Letting out a frustrated sigh, I was considering just heading home without anything to show for it.
Of coarse the instant I started to consider that, that was when I heard the sound of breaking glass. You couldn't have happened about an hour earlier? Mentally grumbling to myself, I broke into a jog, completely killing the lights on my staff. The sound had come around the corner up ahead, and a quick peek around it showed why. A group of thugs, easily identified as Empire 88 by the number of bald heads among them. They'd broken the window of a barbershop and were busy carrying the valuables to a van.
What worried me the most though was one of the guys was carrying. He was playing with a lighter in one hand, the other had a beer bottle with a rag shoved into it. They're gonna set the place on fire after robbing it? The fire would spread to the entire block! Why in the world would they do that? A glance at the nearby street sign confirmed where I was. Parks Street, one of Brockton's rarer black neighborhoods. I can stop this. I have to stop this. A lot of people will get hurt if I don't stop it.
Pulling back behind the corner, I took a breath. Mixed with the anxiety, there was a nugget of excitement in my gut. You can do this. Remember your… single hour of practice with a bow. Remember Neil's lessons. You got this. Looking at the staff, I shifted it to a bow. A small green vine formed, pulling taught. It grew tighter, even as the staff grew thinner in response. Before long it was done, and an arrow flowed into my hand. Sticking it on the string, I pulled gently to make sure it was on there properly. You can do this.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped out around the corner. One of the thugs, probably the lookout, spotted me instantly in the light of the corner's street lamp. He stared at me as I pulled the string to my cheek, taking direct aim at him. It was only as I was about to release that he seemed to finally understand what he was looking at, stumbling backward as he yelled. "SHIT, CAPE!"
I let go, firing the arrow. And missing by a mile. It flew through the air and hit the side of the van, three feet to the left of the thug. Dammit! There was a bit of confusion among the thugs as I made another arrow and knocked it. Some dropped the boxes they were carrying and ran inside. Some dived into the van or behind whatever cover they could. Even the Molotov guy was hiding in the doorway of another building. What would Vicky say here? "Come out and drop your weapons, and there won't be a world of hurt waiting for you."
There were a few moments where nothing happened. I kept my shot in case one of them came out of cover, and they didn't move. I could hear them talking, too far away to make out the words but the ones behind the van were talking to each other. One leaned out from behind the van, and I fired. Again, I missed, the arrow striking the barbershop pole. That's when the Molotov guy stepped out from cover, rag lit, and hurled the bottle at me.
My eyes followed the flame on the bottle as it spiraled through the air. In a state of panic, I made the block of wood on my left arm expand. It seemed to snap out in an instant, forming my shield. It was only as I raised the shield to block it that a thought occurred to me. I'm not fireproof.
The glass shattered on impact with the wood of the shield, sending its contents splattering everywhere. It immediately caught fire, engulfing my shield in a blaze and splashing onto my boots. It hit the string of my bow and caused it to quickly snap, straightening out. Not good, not good, hot hot HOT! Get it off! The burning cells were disconnected, the flames sloughing off of me like the skin of a snake. Stepping away from the flames, my eyes looked back to the thugs… who were charging straight at me!
Shit! My shield came back up just in time to block a meat cleaver?! WHO USES A MEAT CLEAVER?! Stumbling backward, I tried to bring my staff down from above onto him. He dodged to the side, letting my staff strike the sidewalk.
A different thug reached out and grabbed it as I tried to pull it back, nearly yanking it from my hand. Even as that happened the second thug grabbed my shield, pulling it out of the way. Something hit my helmet, causing me to stumble into a garbage can. My heart and head pounded, and I screamed. "LET GO!"
The wood of the staff and shield rippled under my power, and both thugs let out shouts of pain. They stumbled back, blood glinting in the light on the freshly formed spikes. Panic turned to rage, and I capitalized on their lapse.
Reeling from having his hand cut up, the clever thug looked up just in time for me to slam into him. With the front of my shield covered in sharp ridges and thorns, he went down with a scream of pain. Several thorns were left inside of him.
Something slammed into my hip, sending me stumbling again with another lance of pain. The other thug hit me with a metal baseball bat. Whirling around, the end of my staff quickly morphed into a blade. He blocked it with his baseball bat, but I slid the staff forward in a thrust. It cut deep into his shoulder, and he stumbled.
He couldn't stop the second thrust that came in at his outer thigh. Cutting into the muscle, he went down like a sack of meat. Get what you fucking deserve! Grinning with satisfaction, something yanked hard on my foot.
I went sprawling, rolling over to see what happened. Cleaver guy had grabbed my ankle and was crawling towards me with murder in his eyes. A growl escaped me, and suddenly the sole of my boot was covered in spikes. Learn to stay down!
One kick to his shoulder was enough to make him let go of me. One kick to the top of his head was enough to make him curl up in a ball. Getting up, I stomped onto him a few times, leaving him a bloody mess.
Two down, where's the rest? The spikes went away as I turned to look to where the rest of the thugs should have been rushing me. They weren't however. Most were on the ground, clutching at arrows. Three were still standing, stuck in a fight with something. It was hard to get a good look at it, just a black blur.
I took off at a sprint, turning the blade on my staff blunt. My target, the man with his back to me, dodged to the side as the black blur flew past him. It landed, spinning about. I made out a black cloak before I was past them. The thugs looked startled as I jabbed forward, yelling.
The staff with my full body weight behind it slammed into the thug's ribs. He gasped as he went down, hitting the ground hard and not trying to get back up. The other two stared at me for a moment before sprinting off.
An arrow flew past me, hitting one of the guys in the calf and sending him sprawling. Changing the grip on my staff, I hauled my arm back. Then threw it as if it were a javelin. It flew through the air and hit the guy in his back. He went down, hitting his skull against a parked car as he went down.
Whirling around, I looked for any thugs left standing. There were none, just the black-cloaked figure standing there. Panting, I couldn't hear anything beyond the blood rushing in my ears and the pounding of my own heart. Looking down, I saw one of the thugs reaching for my leg.
Pulling back, the heel of my boot connected with his wrist. The bones made an audible crack and he screamed, and some things clicked in my head. I just broke a man's wrist. I stabbed someone, twice. Probably broke a guy's ribs. Gave someone a concussion. I just maimed several people.
The sudden influx of very complicated emotions, mixed with the adrenaline had a specific effect on me. Wood curled back out of the way as I turned, putting my hand on the side of the van. Then, I vomited, coating the side of it in chunks. The acid burned my throat, even as the pain in my head came back.
"Eeeeeeew." The word was drawn out, followed by a laugh. I turned my head over to the source. The black-cloaked figure, her face hidden behind a hockey mask, was just laughing at me. "I was gonna say I liked your moxie but did this seriously make you vomit?"
I bristled at the comment, wiping what little vomit remained off my mouth. My mask came back down hiding my features as I straightened out. "I got hit in the head. Nausea is common after getting a concussion."
Not that I have one. She just laughed again, infuriating me even more. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you say, Woody." Walking over to one of the thugs, she gave him a kick in the side before crouching down. He looked up just in time for her to grab her arrow and rip it out of him, making him scream in pain. I just stood by and watched as she stood up. "I'll say this, you're a fighter at the least. Even if you're a shit one."
"I would have done fine… And it's not Woody. It's..." I trailed off, as I hadn't actually figured out what name I was gonna go with. A snort escaped the other cape as she kept going around and collecting her arrows. Some of the thugs needed a few kicks to make sure they didn't try anything. They deserve it, Amy, they were gonna burn everything down. As long as they don't die it's fine.
"Yeah, you would have done fine. All eight thugs swarming you would have gone great. You'd have done your best impression of a pinecone getting stomped on by some kid." A small growl escaped me at that. Part of me knew it was true, there wasn't much I could have done against all of them. I had been relying on taking a few of them out before they got to me. Which… was stupid. With the last of her arrows collected, she looked over at me. "You got the guts to fight, that's a lot more than a lot of people can say. Just gotta get the practice so that you don't lose those guts."
"How do you know that I don't have the practice?" That just got an unimpressed stare from her. "I've practiced! I know how to fight." That wasn't a lie. Uncle Niel did teach me hand-to-hand combat, just like he taught everyone. I just… needed to pay more attention whenever we did it again.
"You shot twice and whiffed both. Barely managed to hold your own against two guys by yourself. If not for your fancy armor, you'd probably be dead." Wincing at the fact, I just went around to each of the thugs. Checking their vitals to make sure they weren't going to die, before giving them wooden cuffs. By the time I was done, I had used all the wood reserves on my back. But they weren't going anywhere.
The sounds of sirens came from the distance, and the other cape rolled her shoulders. "That's the signal to leave. Figures that they'd arrive only after the damage would have been done." She started to walk off towards an alley, shouting over her shoulder. "You wanna make a difference Woody, contact me. PHO handle's Shadow underscore Cat. Be a survivor, rather than a body in the gutter."
With that, she seemed to meld into the shadows. I stared after her for several moments. Letting out a sigh, I glanced down at the thugs around me. Then to the barbershop with its busted window, I finally noticed something. Standing at a set of stairs at the back of the store, were a pair of people. A black man and woman, older looking, still in their bedclothes. My eyes met theirs for a moment before I turned and started walking.
Despite the conflicted feelings I had bubbling in my head, a small nugget of warmth formed in my chest. I saved two people's lives. I saved who knows how many people's lives. This is what a real hero does.